


Joy At The Jumble Sale

by Random_Nexus



Series: Watson's Woes July Writing Prompts 2018 [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Jumble Sale, M/M, Prompt Fic, Sibling Rivalry, Watson's Woes, Watson's Woes July Writing Prompts 2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-02
Updated: 2018-07-02
Packaged: 2019-06-08 16:03:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15246852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Random_Nexus/pseuds/Random_Nexus
Summary: John uses blatant sexual bribery to get Sherlock to go to a jumble sale with him, where unexpected 'treasures' are found.Written for the Prompt: JWP #2: "A picture prompt - shown below - Use this however it inspires you." -Watson's WoesJuly Writing Prompts.





	Joy At The Jumble Sale

**Author's Note:**

> I got a clear image of the essentials of the story almost as soon as I saw the pic, which is shown below. As will surprise few of my fellow authors, the characters sort of took over and ran off with the story a bit. I hope some of you still enjoy it.

The Prompt Pic  
  


Sherlock was ambling along in John’s wake as he strolled past the tables and little stalls of the jumble sale, making it clear he was bored out of his mind, but also doing his best to act as though he were being the long-suffering martyr in the face of that burden. John thought it borderline hilarious and rolled his eyes and/or smirked at every sigh and breathy groan, but he was determined to enjoy the morning spent looking through the oddball second-hand items for possible treasures—really more for the fun of it, because true jumble sale finds were pretty rare.

John had got Sherlock to agree to come along by means of catching him when he was half-asleep and still a little buzzed on the stupendously brilliant sex they’d had the night before— _three times_ the night before. It had been a deeply satisfying joy to discover that the acerbic, impatient, brilliant man who was the trial of New Scotland Yard and bane to any criminal unlucky enough to cross his path, that man known as Sherlock Holmes, was willing to agree to almost anything on such a morning-after, especially if John crooned it huskily into his ear while fondling Sherlock’ well-loved arse. In low, bone-deep vibrato, Sherlock hummed, nearly purred, like a cozy kitten while cuddling John close and nuzzling into his neck. Although gleeful enough to want to do some kind of happy dance around the room when he first experienced this morning-after cuddle-kitten, John had restrained himself and indulged his lover while vowing to use his powers for good. Well, mostly.

Now Sherlock was watching the time—he’d also been promised a decadent lunch at a place that featured some kind of bizarre, exotic chocolate and coffee confection, along with other things. John wasn’t above getting his way via offering up his own body for his lover’s fantasies, either, and it never hurt to add a little insurance. That weekend was Sherlock’s ‘free for all’ and John was actually looking forward to it quite eagerly, though he wasn’t stupid; he’d insisted on a safe word. He’d come to know Sherlock well in more ways than physically, long before their first kiss. Even with the tall, gorgeous man’s shows of bored disgust and frustration, John occasionally reached out and snagged Sherlock’s hand to pull him in and whisper something encouraging, thank him for agreeing to this, or just remind him he was brilliant and delicious in a way that put colour in his cheeks and derailed the watch-watching for a few minutes.

Still determinedly enjoying himself, John stopped to examine a platter with decorations that looked very similar to one Mrs. Hudson had in her china cabinet, the last survivor of a set she’d once been given; the design was, admittedly, rather tacky, but the sentimental value was great due to the person who’d given the set to her as a starry eyed young girl building her ‘hope chest’. John picked it up and looked closely, asking the person behind the table if they had more than the one. As the middle-aged gent held up a finger and turned to check the boxes in the back of his nearby van, Sherlock grabbed John’s arm with a quiet gasp, his fingers slipping until he held nothing but fabric, rather than flesh.

“John!”

“Hm?” John glanced around again at the items on the table, in case there was another of the plates already out, and only looked up at his partner when Sherlock shook the handful he’d clutched of John’s shirt and the jacket over it. “What, Sherlock?”

Sherlock’s eyes were wide and he had an expression that was about equal to him exclaiming, _‘John, look, three dead bodies with parts missing in a locked room with bits of four different farm animals and a piñata!’_ He was shaking John’s whole arm by the wad of clothing and pointing at two antique—or perhaps just _antiqued_ —statues in a sort of twee Chinese style, one male and one female. “Look, find out what they want for those. I must have them. Act casual!” Sherlock ordered, hissing the last into John’s ear as he turned to examine a nearby copper coffee mill as if it was the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen.

“We’ve got three more of the plates, as it happens,” the man said as he turned back, holding a square, short box and tilting it to show the stack of identical plates inside.

“I’ll take all four, then,” John said confidently, “What’re you asking?”

“If you take ‘em all, then five pounds will do the job,” replied the man, clearly happy to be rid of them. John nodded, shifting only a little when Sherlock kicked him in the ankle, mostly subtly. “And those statues, that one and the other there? What about them?”

“Oh, well,” the man scowled in thought, his features shifting strangely from mildly dim bloke to slightly scary bloke. He lifted one and then the other, checking the little pencil scratches that John could only assume were made by the man, himself. “I was asking twenty pounds apiece.”

Sherlock made a back of the throat, almost strangled sound—John wasn’t sure if it was a good sound or if the man might need CPR soon—and John did his own version of a ‘thoughtful face’, including a musing hum before he said slowly, “Well… I’ve only got thirty pounds on me… but I really like the statues and those plates will please my landlady no end. Would you take the thirty pounds for the plates and the statues?”

“Thirty, eh?” the man repeated, squinting through his own version of the ‘thoughtful face’ and sighing heavily. “You know I could go with the forty for the statues and throw in the plates for free.”

John nodded, but added the universal sideways tilt of ‘yeah, but’ at the end and said regretfully, “I can’t argue it’s a good deal, but I really only have thirty on me.” He leaned in and said softly, “I’m happy to mention to anyone I encounter on my way that you’ve got some great pieces here.”

His squint-tinged ‘thoughtful face’ turned into a slightly surprised and impressed face, and the man looked around and leaned in, as well, his own voice lowered. “Well, if you don’t tell anyone I went so cheap and talk me up a bit, I can do the thirty.”

“Brilliant!” John said, hamming it up just a little, digging out his wallet as he continued speaking. “I’ll take that deal, and thank you so much for being such an understanding bloke.”

Sherlock made another odd, sub-vocal sound, burying his face in John’s shoulder.

“He alright?” the man asked quizzically as John held out the money.

“Bored and probably going through a blood sugar shift,” John explained easily, reaching up to pet Sherlock’s hair distractedly, murmuring as if to a cranky child. “Just a minute, luv, we’re moving on in just a minute.”

The man’s brows shot up and he waggled a finger between John and Sherlock, asking quietly, “Are you two… y’know… _together_?”

John’s heart sank, expecting his deal may have just been rendered moot, but he kept his face as natural as he could and nodded. His smile was genuine, though, because he wouldn’t ever be sorry he and Sherlock were ‘together’. Never. “Yeah, just above a year now.”

Instead of a scowl or disgusted grimace, the man’s face broke into a sunny smile that changed his whole visage, his tone warming in kind. “Ooh, congrats! Look here, take him out for a coffee and pastry or something, why don’t you?” The man held out the ten pound note, only keeping the twenty pounds.

“That’s… that’s so kind of you!” John exclaimed genuinely, his own smile growing brighter as he slowly, almost unbelievingly, took the note back.

“So few find their someone in this world,” the man said, still smiling gently. “Me and my Kev have been together for eleven years, but only out and proud for about five. It’s hard, I’ll warn you, but don’t let the world steal your joy, you two.”

“Thanks,” John said, simply and sincerely. “Congrats to you and your Kev, as well.”

“Thanks to _you_ ,” the man replied, smile growing again, eyes just about sparkling. “Here, let me wrap the statues to protect ‘em while you put that plate in with the others.”

Five minutes later, the box of plates under one arm and the other around Sherlock’s waist, John glanced over to see Sherlock peering into the bag holding the thickly wrapped statues, his expression slowly forming into one of glee. John smirked a bit. Yeah, definitely evil glee. “What?” He glanced back to make sure that they were well away from the man who’d sold them the statues, and patted Sherlock’s far hip. “Well? Why all the weird noises and the shy act? What is it about those statues?”

“John,” Sherlock began, voice full of repressed excitement, clutching the bag to him like something precious. “My maternal grandmother had two statues in her sitting room, which she never tired of talking about. How her first husband had brought them home for her after a long trip to China, along with some various silk items, and that she could remember their wonderful reunion every time she looked on them.” He was grinning hugely, mouth adorably askew, eyes crinkled up at the edges.

“So, you had fond memories, eh?” John supposed, smiling happily for Sherlock.

“God, no!” Sherlock replied without losing an ounce of his delight, with the lingering flavour of ‘evil glee’ still underlying his expression. “Mycroft and I loathed them, because they seemed to be smiling at you, wherever you went in the room; like they knew something about you.” He chuckled.

“Oh, hell,” John sighed, smile fading into a pained expression.

“They got broken—of course, accidentally—just after she passed away,” Sherlock continued, now leading the way out of the street hosting the jumble sale.

“Of course,” murmured John sarcastically.

Sherlock ignored him, mostly, though he snorted softly before going on. “Mummy wanted them, we all knew it, but when they turned up broken after the movers were finished packing up Grandmama’s things, Mummy let the matter go. Now… oh, now…” Sherlock took a left at the end of the street and John could see the café sign a little ways on, knowing that was likely their destination.

“You’re going to terrorize Mycroft with them by sneaking them into his bedroom or something?” John hazarded, giving him a knowing look.

“Of course not, I’ve learned my lesson,” Sherlock dismissed blithely. “I’ve promised never to practice my B&E skills on Mycroft’s house again.”

John paused as they neared the café, tilting his head and looking up at Sherlock suspiciously. “Then…”

“I’m giving them to Mummy for Christmas!” Sherlock all but sang out joyfully. “I’ll be in good with her for the next five years or more, she’ll put them someplace prominent, and Mycroft will be forced to suffer through them staring at him every time he visits her to suck up.”

“Dear Lord,” John sighed, shaking his head.

Sherlock stopped just as he was about to reach for the door to the café, suddenly looking a bit concerned. “Not good?” he asked in a low, private tone.

John felt the importance of the moment, the power of his influence with Sherlock, and knew the man would probably let John talk him out of it. He took a deep breath, the joyful grin just bursting out of him as he said breathily, “Oh, God no! What can I do to help?”

The lopsided, equally joyful, and utterly wicked grin that made Sherlock’s eyes nearly disappear in happy crinkles nearly exploded John’s heart with love. They went inside the café, buying coffees and a couple of pastries, and began talking about ‘presentation’.

Once Sherlock had finished his pastry and a few stolen bits of John’s, he stopped in the middle of a sentence to lean in and say, “This doesn’t get you off the hook for lunch, John.” His expression turned sultry, his voice lowering about two octaves. “Or anything else.”

Chuckling, even though he had to shift a bit in his seat at the reaction to that particular tone from his lover, John shook his head, giving Sherlock his best ‘I’m going to do unspeakably delightful things to you later’ expression. “Wouldn’t dream of trying to get out of that, luv. Got to keep the joy in our relationship, right?”

Needless to say, their lunch later on was everything Sherlock had hoped it would be, as was John’s gift of himself to Sherlock that weekend, and the gift from Sherlock and John to Sherlock’s mother that Christmas was a special kind of joy to behold for years afterward—though not so much for Mycroft, as per the plan.


End file.
